


again

by thecaryatid



Series: easy to find [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, bath scenes, they're naked but there's no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecaryatid/pseuds/thecaryatid
Summary: Sylvain proposes, again. He brought rings this time.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: easy to find [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753507
Comments: 11
Kudos: 130





	again

The rings in their little cloth pouch sit heavy in Sylvain’s pocket. Every morning he transfers them to his fresh outfit, checking carefully for holes that the rings could fall through, and he waits for the right time. 

Functionally, they’re already married. They sleep in the same bed, take breakfast together, and do each other’s paperwork. They’re bound together in words and promises stretching back almost twenty years; it’s already done, they’re Felix-and-Sylvain. But Sylvain’s gaze lingers on Felix’s ringless finger, looking for a physical reminder of  _ them _ . Sometimes he kisses the spot where a ring would rest, and Felix watches narrow-eyed, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Of course Felix would say yes. Sylvain’s being silly, looking ahead to one more assurance that he shouldn’t need. Still, he watches Felix train, he brushes Felix’s hair and teases him about everything, and he waits for the right time. 

“You keep staring at me,” Felix snaps late one evening. He’s grumpy, after an afternoon spent discussing grain yields and a short evening sparing session. Strands of sweaty hair are escaping from his low ponytail. 

“Do I need an excuse to stare at you?” Sylvain asks. It’s a favorite pastime of his, after all. Is this the right time? It could be the right time, with Felix gazing at him level and suspicious. He doesn’t take out the rings. 

Felix grunts and worries at the hem of his sleeve; it’s muddy from the training grounds. He takes off his crumpled cloak, kicks off his muddied boots, and heads toward the bathroom. 

Sylvain follows, hanging back, admiring while Felix strips and piles his dirty clothes onto the pristine tile. The clothes can wait—Felix catches his eye and smirks, arms crossed impatiently, and that’s a bit more important than a pile of clothes. 

This could be the right time. But Felix is already scowling at Sylvain’s slowness. 

“I’ll wash my hair myself if you take any longer,” Felix says, and the moment slips away. 

Sylvain strips himself and hops into the over-large bath, none too graceful, joining Felix in the water. There’s room for both of them to stretch out, but he wades over to Felix, scooping him up in a half-weightless hug. He’s sweaty, not to mention heavy from compact muscle and sharp at all his joints. Objectively, hugging Felix is not comfortable. 

Sylvain hugs him tighter. He doesn’t let go until Felix’s too-tense shoulders relax and he sighs out one long breath against Sylvain’s neck before pulling away, dunking his head under the water and scrubbing his arms with soap. It’s aggressive, like scrubbing himself down fast wins him a prize. 

Is this the right moment? Watching Felix scrub off the day’s sweat and grime is more than nice. Sylvain could do this every evening, every day. 

Felix steps back toward Sylvain before he can go grab the rings. “Wash my hair,” he says, like it’s a demand and not an offering. 

“Oh, I’d love to,” Sylvain says. 

Self-indulgently, he winds his fingers through Felix’s hair and coaxes him to lean his forehead against Sylvain’s shoulder. He grabs the soap, works it through thoroughly, breaking up the grease. Felix tilts his head back and wrinkles his nose while Sylvain pours water over it, washing out the soap, and he moans quietly when Sylvain presses his fingertips against Felix’s scalp. Scalp massages are good for the tension that comes from the many understandable stressors in Felix’s life and, also, from wearing his hair up all the time, like an idiot who won’t admit it gives him headaches. 

Luckily, Sylvain plans to be here, massaging all the stress out, for the rest of their lives. Felix moans again when he moves down to Felix’s neck, kneading out the tension. 

“Feeling better yet, kitten?” 

“This is fine,” Felix says. The words slur together a little and he slumps against Sylvain in a relaxed puddle, so that’s clearly a Felix-typical understatement. Having an armful of Felix in any capacity is good, but this is best: Felix comfortable and relaxed, pressing slow kisses to Sylvain’s neck, letting himself by held. Felix yawns like a sleepy lion; Sylvain kisses the corner of his mouth. Too bad the bath will cool down eventually. He could stay like this forever, cocooned in warmth, Felix pressed against his chest. 

It could be the right moment. Sylvain almost,  _ almost _ asks, but before he can, Felix blinks alert and steps away. He hops onto the side of the bath, feet dangling into the water, and gestures Sylvain forward. And Sylvain’s got a whole thing for doing whatever Felix wants, especially when Felix is naked and happy, so. He approaches, wraps his arms around Felix’s waist, turns to nose at a long-healed scar on Felix’s thigh. 

Life’s pretty good. Sylvain stares at that scar, left long ago by a silver sword. Life is actually pretty good. 

Felix tugs at his hair, clearly trying to guide Sylvain down to his cock, and yeah, there’s not much better than sucking Felix off when he’s this relaxed. Usually he’s quiet unless Sylvain’s putting in serious effort, but right now, with the tension coaxed out of his muscles and his hands resting in Sylvain’s hair, he might make some nice noises. 

He leans down to lick the head of Felix’s cock. But he looks up at Felix as he does, at Felix’s mostly-closed eyes, his mouth that’s finally eased from its habitual frown, and he doesn’t make it. 

“Marry me,” Sylvain whispers. The words strike louder than he expected, echoing through the room. He freezes like a spooked horse when Felix focuses his gaze down and tightens his hands in Sylvain’s hair. 

“What did you say?” Felix asks. There’s no particular snap in his voice. He doesn’t look angry; his grip loosens when Sylvain presses his face into Felix’s stomach. 

It wasn’t a mistake. They deserve each other, in the good way—because Felix lets go of his bowstring-tight tension when he’s in Sylvain’s arms, because Sylvain wakes up from nightmares to Felix stroking his hair, because—because. 

“Sylvain. Say that again.” Felix cups Sylvain’s cheek, calloused fingers catching on smooth skin. 

And it’s finally the right moment. One problem: he’s in the bath. The rings are still in the pocket of his pants, folded neatly at the edge of the room. Sylvain scrabbles away so abruptly that Felix overbalances and tumbles over, landing in the tub with a splash. 

For once he doesn’t care that he’s dripping all over his clothes, leaving wet handprints on fine fabric as he searches through the pockets. Finally, Sylvain’s fingers close on a satiny pouch. The rings clink together as he scrambles back to Felix, so quick he almost loses his footing. 

This is not a traditional moment. By anyone else’s standards it isn’t the best time, with them both naked and Felix leaning on the edge of the bath, glaring in consternation. 

Sylvain sits beside him, cupping Felix’s chin as he presents the rings. “Marry me. Tell me I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always want to be mine. Please, Felix?” 

Felix blushes. He also squints, like he’s confused. “This is nice,” Felix says, admiring the ring. It  _ is  _ nice—Sylvain wouldn’t get anything but the best. “The ring is nice, but we’re already engaged.” 

They aren’t though? Surely Sylvain would remember proposing. He’d definitely remember being proposed to. “I’m actually pretty sure I’d remember that,” he says, stung. 

Felix tilts his head, frowning like Sylvain’s a sword that needs sharpening. “You’ve asked me that before. You’ve asked me that frequently, using nearly the same words.” 

And, sure, perhaps years ago at Gautier, whispering  _ you’re never leaving me, right? _ between hurried kisses. And, okay, on every birthday, pinning Felix down and reciting everything he’s found to love. And sometimes just because he feels like it, perching on the edge of Felix’s desk and saying  _ I love you, I’ll always love you _ . 

“I always said yes,” Felix says. 

Oh. So maybe Sylvain’s the idiot this time. Felix is making a fool of him by taking every promise he’s made, or asked for, and holding them to his heart. 

“Do you think you could say yes one more time?” 

Felix smiles. It’s a small expression, but it softens his whole face. “Yes. I will marry you, Sylvain.” Felix slips the ring onto his own finger, and admires it in the steady lamplight. “You have good taste. Now give me that.” He grabs the other ring, sitting uselessly in Sylvain’s palm.

“Since you need things said a dozen times before you believe them,” Felix says, and Sylvain winces a little, “I love you. Marry me.” 

Words nearly get stuck in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah,” Sylvain says, his shaky breaths teetering between laughter and tears, “any time you ask, any way you ask, of course, I mean, of course, I’m  _ yours _ .” 

“Exactly.” Felix glares. “Obviously. Hold out your hand.” He slips the matching ring onto Sylvain’s finger. 

It’s just metal, mundane metal with only the most common enchantments against scratches and tarnishing. It’s just words they’ve said dozens of times before. Sylvain laces his hand through Felix’s, their matching rings kissing together, and it aches like a heart healing. 

**Author's Note:**

> and then they fuck
> 
> [im on twitter](https://twitter.com/thecaryatid)


End file.
